


disamistade

by Maharetchan



Series: anime salve [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alana is the serial killer and Will is still Will, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, F/M, Muteness, Prison, Psychological Trauma, Role Reversal, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maharetchan/pseuds/Maharetchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham wakes up every morning and wishes Alana Bloom had killed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	disamistade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pondglorious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pondglorious/gifts).



> 1\. Companion piece of "dolcenera", written this time from Will's pov, still deals with a role reversal au where Alana is the ripper. If you ship it, I guess this could be read as Willana, but I wrote it as gen, even though there are some implied feelings I guess.  
> The title comes, again, from an Italian song by songwriter Fabrizio De Andrè you can listen to it a [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXAGJCw5rts).  
> 2\. I have a tumblr ([samiferist](http://samiferist.tumblr.com/) ) so feel free to message me there if you feel like. I'd love it! ^^  
> 3\. My first language is not English and I don't have an English beta reader. So please excuse the grammar mistakes that you'll probably find.  
> 4\. I love comments!

Every morning Will Graham wakes up and wishes he was dead.

\--

Alana Bloom's office had lavender walls, high windows that allowed the bright outside light to pour into it from them, refreshing and reassuring, and smelled of rose incense, giving the rooms a cheerful and relaxed look. He remembers the textures of the couches, the peaceful sound of the fireplace crackling during winter, the atmosphere of security it gave him.

It has all been shut down by the police and the FBI now: the windows are blind and black, the garden growing wild from the lack of care, the building wasting away in the core of the city: an ugly writing in bright, red painting reading “cannibal” stains the front side.

Will tries to avoid it as much as he can, takes a million different routes so he doesn't have to see it and face the reality of what it means.

He ends up there anyway, stares at it until he can't bear it anymore and remains there for hours, until his legs ache and bile piles into his stomach, filling his mouth with a sour and terrible taste.

\--

He doesn't speak for months while recovering from the stab wound, lies in his hospital bed with Beverly Katz holding his hand and talking in his place to all the other visitors that come knocking on his door, his back facing the door when he's finally able to lie on his side, shutting the world out and refusing to see it.

Jack Crawford, Hannibal Lecter, even Abigail Hobbs: they all come and go, paying the dying tribute the homage of their visit and then disappearing again like shadows.

Will doesn't acknowledge any of them: he focuses on the pain, on the strain of his body, on healing, on recovering.

He only wishes there were a way to also make him forget.

\--

Freddie Lounds asks him if he fucked her, and when he refuses to reply or give her an interview, she makes it her life mission to slide every sort of insinuation and veiled insult to him in every single one of her articles, wondering with no shame if the only reason why he's still alive it's because the Chesapeake Ripper couldn't bring herself to kill her lover.

Will sometimes wishes it were true, wishes he could say that yes, she fucked him, hard, made him do everything she wanted him to, made him her slave: at least he could look into the journalist's eyes and spit all his venom right on her face, describe every crude detail, so maybe he could manage to truly shock her and shut her mouth for good.

But they never even kissed and somehow this makes it even worse.

Because she was his friend, his only friend, a deeper and stronger connection, something he never had with anyone else and that ended drowned in his own blood.

\---

Hannibal Lecter leaves the country before Alana's trial starts, goes back to France, but the day before leaving he goes to see him at the clinic where he's staying to recover.

The look in his eyes breaks his heart in a way he never imagined possible: they're vacant, a dark pit of guilt and incredulity. 

Will allows him to take his hand because they both know, they both saw it, they both loved her more than they could ever say and she betrayed them both, turned her back on them and revealed a face neither could imagine to be her real one.

They stay like that for a long time without saying a word, wondering how different things could have been for all of them, regretting choices they never made and the ones they did make.

“I'll write you. I will come to see you when I'm in the country.”

He never does and he never comes back.

\---

He goes to Florida with Beverly, her girlfriend and his dogs during the trial, never watches tv and avoids the media circus as much as he can.

But one day he sees a picture of her on a newspaper and has to rush into the nearest public toilet to throw up because...

Her eyes are cold and hard as stone, a mocking smile curves her lips, and yet she's still beautiful in a terrible, deathly way, she still hits him right into his heart and tears it apart like she did that afternoon when she stabbed him and opened his belly.

Will can still feel the blood on his hands and his insides pouring out of the gash if he closes his eyes, tastes vomit and terror in his mouth and wishes he still had tears to cry for himself, for the wreck he has made of whoever he was before and for his inability to let got for good of the person that did this to him.

\---

He dreams of the stabbing, and thinks it would've been better if she had been cruel to him, if she had done it hating him, enjoying his sufferings, instead of looking as sad and broken as he feels now.

Her eyes had been veiled with tears, but her hands firm, precise and merciless.

I'm going to bleed out, she's going to leave and I'm going to die here alone.

But she didn't leave: she stood there for the longest time, staring down at him, doubt and guilt flashing into her eyes all at once, and he kept looking, forced her to watch him die.

Her lips were stained and red when she lowered herself on him and kissed him, barely a contact, before calling for help.

He cried, he remembers it, remembers closing his eyes and clinging to her desperately, reaching out to her even while dying.

Alana had caressed his hair gently and her reassuring smile was the last thing he saw before passing out.

And when he woke up again, he was in the hospital and Alana was gone.  
\---

She looks so small in her prison uniform, so different: but ironically she seems to be stronger and absolutely undefeated even while locked away, an inner strength finding its way through the crushing loneliness and the constant humiliation.

“I worry about you, Will. You don't look well.”

“You don't get to worry about me anymore.”

And yet she still does, she still takes care of him and her care is so genuine he can't believe he's still so dependent on it and of what it means to him, feels dirty and poisoned, feels damaged and utterly destroyed more by her gentleness than by her violence.

“I'm sorry I didn't manage to make this easier for you.”

He takes her hand and chokes away all the tears he could still cry for her.

\---

Will Graham wakes up every morning and wishes Alana Bloom had killed him.


End file.
